Doctor Who: Seven Days of Christmas
by Man-Man in a Box
Summary: After an incident with the TARDIS, the Maitlands get an unexpected visitor for the holiday season, as the Doctor is stranded on Earth for a week. In that week, the Doctor and Clara become closer to each other then ever before. Expect both Whouffle goodness and a mystery-focused, timey-wimey plot rolled into one, Christmas-themed story.
1. Chapter 1: Day One - Part 1

Doctor Who: Seven Days of Christmas

Chapter 1: Day One - Part 1

A/N: _Because the description no doubt didn't give you a good idea of what to expect from this story (damn word limit!) I thought I'd just use this Author's Note to give my wonderful, potential-readers a quick break-down of what to expect from this._

_Basically, in this story, the Doctor gets standard on Earth for a week. In that week, he begins to grow closer to Clara, as she does to him. Expect Soufflé baking, Angie and Artie insisting on calling the Doctor Clara's 'boyfriend', the Doctor meeting Clara's family, and more!_

_But it's not all going to be fluffy Whouffle goodness, this __**is**__ Doctor Who, and I am primarily a Action/Adventure writer, so also expect danger, monsters and a timey-wimey plot (which hopefully won't be too confusing!)_

_I know, I know, it's been awhile since I last uploaded a story on this site but I'm back now, with a story set at Christmas! So... Onwards with Chapter One._

'Knock! Knock! Knock!' 3 loud, heavy knocks rang through the nearly-empty house of the Maitlands'. They were followed up by a series of rapid and impatient beats that were carried out in a rhythm.

It was a rhythm Clara Oswald knew quite well, a rhythm she waited to hear, with eager anticipation, each Wednesday. It was a rhythm she had first heard moments before a rather strange man had turned up, dressed like a Monk, on the doorstep of the house she lived in. It was a rhythm that belonged to the knuckles of a man who had dragged her out of her ordinary, mundane, human life and into his own life. For his life was one of excitement, danger, and wonder. It was the life of an adventurer, a madman! And it was also a life that would, if you allowed it to, consume you.

When she first saw that blue box outside her window, was first reassured that he kept his promises, that he didn't just leave the people he met on his travels, she had said to herself things like 'don't allow yourself to be swept away by him' and 'don't fall in love'. Which was why she had allowed herself time to consider his offer, and which was also the main reason why she only let him pick her up for adventures every Wednesday. Because, if she wasn't careful, she would become a bit obsessed with him and the life he led, she knew she would. She would fall in love with the handsome, nameless, childish, eccentric man, if she allowed herself to, it wouldn't be hard. But she had already had her heart broken before, and she wasn't entirely sure whether the poor organ could take being shattered once again.

She was naturally a bit cautious of the Doctor. He had even said, once, 'you don't run out on the people you care about, I wish I was more like that'. Therefore, although the logic was flawed, Clara figured if the two of them didn't grow too attached to each other, and only saw each other once a a week, they wouldn't fall in love and he wouldn't 'run out' on her, leaving her in an awful state. Her trick to not falling in love with him had been working, but recently she had been finding herself anticipating the next Wednesday even more. Even counting down the days until her grinning, bow-tie-wearing maniac would whisk her off into the stars. Yes, she was trying to resist, but, in the end, perhaps resistance was futile. Her trick was failing, and fast. And the Doctor wasn't helping, because now, he was knocking on her door on days that weren't Wednesday...

She leapt up from the soft mattress of her bed and made her way across her room. Before walking down the stairs that led to the main door. The impatient knocks were ringing through the walls in a rapid beat. They were rather eager, and even slightly-childish in the manner of which they were carried out. Reaching the wooden door, Clara turned the handle and opened it to reveal the man she had been expecting to see.

Before her stood a tall, dark haired figure. He was wearing a bow-tie, had dark, floppy hair and sported a Victorian-esque Cashmere Coat.

She greeted him with enthusiasm, "Doctor!" Before lowering her tone and adding, "It's not Wednesday..."

He shook his head slightly. "No, but it **is** Thursday, correct?"

She rested one arm against the doorframe, putting some of her body weight on it. Before nodding her own head gently in reply. "Yeah..."

"Well then..." He beamed down at her, looking proud of himself. She raised her dark eyebrows at him inquisitively in reply, at the slightly-goofy grin on his face, as he stood in the doorway.

She opened up one hand in reply, ending her lean on the wall in the process. "And?"

"I got the date right." He replied in a tone that suggested this was an impressive feat.

"Big deal, I'm guessing you just checked the TARDIS scanner for that date?"

"No, that's just the thing Clara, I managed to get the date right without the help of the TARDIS." He spoke animatedly, moving his hands around a lot, seemingly oblivious to the freezing-cold of the snowflakes that were falling from the sky and onto his scalp.

"And why did you do that?"

"Because it's..." He paused for a moment, taking a heavy, sad breath out. Before continuing, "Because it's gone."

"Gone?"

"Yes, gone. The TARDIS is gone." He replied bitterly.

"Look, why don't you come inside and we'll talk about this, you must be freezing out there..." She gestured towards him, beckoning him to come into the house, out of the freezing cold that was a suburban London street in the middle of December.

The Doctor looked to his side to see a few snowflakes float, adrift, down through the cold winter air. Before resting lightly on his shoulder, and melting there. He paused for a moment, before looking back up at her and adding, suddenly, a quick, "Yes." Before walking through the doorframe and into the narrow entrance hall of the Maitland's house.

Clara led him into the lounge room and gestured for him to sit down on the sofa, before walking over to the kitchen and beginning to make tea for two.

A few minutes passed in silence, as Clara made the tea inside a china teapot and the Doctor observed the living room, as if he'd never seen it before in his life. At first he began staring at one of the walls with interest. Pinned to it was a calendar, which was opened to the month and year of December, 2013. The days had been crossed out from Sunday the first, up until Thursday the twelfth, which was the date of the day the Doctor and Clara were currently in.

After getting bored with the calendar, he walked over to the mantel above the fireplace and looked at a few of the framed pictures that stood there. Most of them were of a young Angie and Artie, as they stood, smiling, in school uniforms. There were several photos featuring the whole family, however, and they were in a straight line, progressing in chronological order. The first few were of Mr Maitland, (who the Doctor had only glimpsed briefly, by this point in his own personal timeline) a very young-looking Angie, and a dark-skinned woman with shoulder-length, black hair. As time progressed, a baby Artie appeared, Angie became a teenager and Mr Maitland's hair disappeared, never to be seen again. The latest photo, which threatened to fall off the mantelpiece if knocked, showed Artie, Angie and Mr Maitland as they appeared now. Only with Mrs Maitland replaced by Clara, who, the Doctor noticed, was looking very pretty indeed with her shoulder-length hair curled at the ends.

Eventually (after just a few minutes) the Doctor got bored with the photos. So he slipped off his Cashmere coat, rolled up his sleeves (so they were sitting around his elbows) and kicked back onto the comfortable sofa, allowing himself to sink into it.

He looked to the side as Clara walked around the sofa and stood before him, carrying a tray that contained a packet of Jammie Dodgers, a pot of tea and two teacups. Clara watched with a smile planted on her face as he hungrily eyed the packet of jam-filled biscuits.

She placed the tray on the glass coffee table that stood before the lounge. Before letting out a little shiver, and commenting on the temperature. "It's freezing in here, how are you coping without your coat?"

He glanced over at her, replying as he did so. "Time-Lords are far less sensitive to the cold then humans. It doesn't bother us unless it's truly extreme..."

"Well, humans are quite sensitive to it. So, if you don't mind, I'm going to turn on the heating and give this scarf a rest."

As she turned on the electrical heating to the room they were in the Doctor opened up the packet of Jammie Dodgers with an eagerness that could only be compared with a seven-year-old walking into a sweet shop or a hungry lion tucking into it's dinner. He shook the packet gently, so several of the biscuits fell onto the tray, then gripped the handle of his tea-filled mug firmly and began to consume the warm drink.

Clara walked past him, settling down on a squishy armchair to his right. "Ah, that's better." She said with a tone of leisurely comfort as she loosened her scarf from the tight grip it held around her neck and curled up on the armchair.

She leaned over and grabbed her own mug of tea, blowing on the hot surface of the liquid gently. As she did this, she spoke. "So, spill the beans, what's happened to the TARDIS? Where has it gone and why hasn't it taken you with it?"

The Doctor swallowed his mouthful of Jammie Dodger and replied. "She, kind of, got a bit, blown off course, slightly..."

Clara attempted to suppress a giggle but wasn't very successful. As she softly laughed she stammered out the words, "B-blown of course?"

The Doctor closed his eyes, taking a second to recover from the humiliation of it all. "Yes, the Time Winds that are currently located in this area didn't agree with her. She got a bit huffy and left in distress while I was outside trying to figure out the time and date."

Clara was still giggling gently under her breath. "Your snogbox is affected by the wind?"

"Yes, no, sort of, they're special types of winds... Shut up." He only jokingly said that last word, he really didn't want her to 'shut up', not at all. He enjoyed the sound of her laugh more than any other sound in the universe, sometimes... He paused for a moment, before adding. "And she's not a snogbox!"

Recovered from her minor giggling fit, Clara took another sip of tea and replied. "I still think it's a bit lame that you're time-travelling machine is blown away by a little breeze, though, don't you?"

"It's more then just a breeze out there!" He gestured towards one of the rooms frosted windows. "This whole city is in the middle of a temporal blizzard, there are time distortions literally everywhere! It's like trying to land a primitive plane in the middle of a raging thunderstorm!"

Clara took another sip of tea and nodded in reply, adding a simple "Uh-huh." Before asking, "Where's she gone now that she's deserted you?"

"She's retreated to the void of space, just above the Earth's atmosphere, probably. The disturbances in time located here shouldn't effect her when she's that far away from them. She'll be out of the way of planes and satellites but easy enough to signal and retrieve, using the Sonic Screwdriver." He dunked the Jammie Dodger that was in his hand into his tea, before consuming the soaking biscuit, swallowing it, and continuing. "The only problem is, she can't land anywhere around here provided these Time Winds are hanging around. They'll lash out at the old girl, you see, force her to retreat back into the empty comfort of space. I need to locate the source of the time distortions and shut them down, otherwise I'll be stranded here... Forever." He emphasised that last word using a morbid, dark tone. He said it as if it was the worst thing that could possibly happen to him.

"Now that you're stuck here though where are you going to stay? You don't have any money."

"Well, if you don't mind..." He gestured around the living room with one hand. "I thought maybe I could kick around here for a bit. This could be my base of operations while I figure out what's causing the distortions. You're my guys for this! You, Angie and Artie." Clara just nodded in reply as he said this. He then added, "Actually, come to think of it, where are those two?" He looked around the living room, as if expecting them to suddenly pop up from out of nowhere.

Clara let out another soft giggle and answered his question. "They're at school, silly. They left to catch the bus an hour ago."

"School?! It's almost Christmas!" He choked out, sounding shocked and even slightly-disgusted.

"New laws for government schools, holidays are limited to just one week before and after Christmas Day." Clara stated matter-of-factly.

"Well, that sucks, and... Oh, that's right, it is almost Christmas, isn't it?" He spoke as if he had only just realised it.

"Yep, and?" She let her sentence drift off, hoping he would pick it up as she took another sip of tea.

"I love Christmas! I can hardly wait!" His face lit up like a child's, his feet drumming at the floor in an excited rhythm.

He began rambling, muttering to himself about past adventures occurring around Christmas. "I once fought a giant spider-lady underneath the Thames with a gobby temp from Chiswick on Christmas Day. Then there was the whole thing with the Sycorax, and then there was the Christmas in 1814 with Ace... God that girl never knew when or when not to use that Nitro-9 she had stuffed in her rucksack..." He took a moment to pause in his reminiscence. "And then there was that time, remember? That Christmas with the Great Intelligence and the Snowmen and the Ice Governess and..." He suddenly remembered how that particular story ended for Clara, and thought it was perhaps best not to mention it. Luckily he was just muttering under his breath half the time, hopefully Clara hadn't heard or been paying particular attention to him. The memories of that fateful Christmas Eve caused a bitter taste to creep into the Doctor's mouth, he attempted to wash it away with a mouthful of tea but wasn't entirely successful.

Seemingly oblivious to his current, rather melancholic, state-of-mind Clara continued the conversation cheerily. "You know, if you're going to sleep and hang around here for a bit you're going to be spending a lot of time around me."

This put a smile on his face, he looked up at her and bounced back a reply. "And how is that a problem from my perspective?" He was being honest, it wasn't a problem, not at all. In fact, now that he thought about it, spending a couple of days on Earth wouldn't be so bad... He'd have things to do, stuff to investigate, and someone he enjoyed spending time with in the form of Clara.

Replying to his past sentence, Clara waved a dismissive hand at him. "Oh, it's not, I guess..." She then looked up from her hot mug of tea and smiled over at him, continuing. "But I've got secret-woman's-business to get on with during the day, you're going to have to do something to pass the time, and I know you're not a very patient person."

"Hey, I was willing to wait for you to finish resting back after your encounter with the Spoonheads." He replied defensively.

"But, you didn't have to, in the end..."

"It's the thought that counts." He replied, in a wise tone. Waggling a figure at her before continuing, "But, you can't really blame me, can you? Most of the time, whenever I need to wait for something I can just use the TARDIS to hop forwards into time."

"Except when the TARDIS has been scared off by some time distortions." Clara replied, the Doctor just nodded.

He then asked her, concerning their previous conversation. "Well, is there anything that needs fixing?"

"Fixing?" Clara repeated.

"I'm the Doctor, I mend things, make them better, fix them up." He flexed the fingers on his right hand as he spoke.

"Well, the sprinkler system is making a bit of a funny sound again, you could go have a look at that." Clara drained her tea cup and placed it back on the coffee table.

"Where is it?"

"Back garden." She pointed over his shoulder, to which he responded by following her point and glancing over at the sliding glass doors that gave entrance to the small, neat patch of grass and flower beds that made up the Maitlands' back garden.

He stood up, placing the empty mug on the coffee table before him and straightening his bow-tie. He then stretched out his arms and cracked his fingers. As he did this he spoke, in a determined tone. "Right, better get to work..."

A/N: _I hope everyone enjoyed that, if you did but still think it could be improved, remember to give it a review! I would absolutely love to hear your thoughts and opinions. Also, follows and favourites are very much appreciated! I hope everyone is on the same page with the plot, if you're not, remember to mention it in a review or a PM._


	2. Chapter 2: Day One - Part 2

Chapter 2: Day One - Part 2

_A/N: In-case anyone is confused about the reasons the TARDIS flew off without the Doctor, just remember The Angels Take Manhattan. How the amount of paradoxes caused by the high number of Weeping Angels located in New York meant the TARDIS had difficulty landing there. The exact same thing has happened here, in London, 2013. But, before you ask, no, the Angels will not be returning..._

_A big thank-you to all my amazing readers, followers, reviewers and people who have favourited. You guys are the best! Regarding reviews, one of them coming in makes my day. I love to hear your thoughts, opinions and suggestions for this story._

_With all that out of the way, I'll leave you guys to enjoy the latest chapter._

Clara lay back on her bed, heating on full-blast (her scarf and jacket lay discarded in a corner of the room.) Her head rested on her pillow, with her brown hair spread out in a dark, wavy mess. Her arms were stretched out above her, reaching for the ceiling, her hands gripping the sides of an old, paperback edition of 'Summer Falls' tightly.

She had always enjoyed books by the Scottish author Amelia Williams. It was a fondness that had since been passed on to Artie. These books often spoke of travels to distant lands. Many book enthusiasts and critics often cited fairy-tales and other fantastical adventure stories to be the main inspiration behind books like 'The Star Whale' and 'The Life and Deaths of the Last Centurion'. Which made sense, as these books shared many traits with other stories. Such as an eccentric, strange wizard (who claimed to be very old but appeared young) and a portal to another world (a blue wardrobe, in many of her books.)

Nevertheless, up until her unfortunate death, Amelia Williams insisted that these fantastical stories were based on real-life experiences and characters, leaving some to speculate on her mental health. Whether she was crazy or not was debatable, but the Amelia Williams books held something very special to Clara. As they contained, within their pages, memories of a young, brown-haired girl, sitting down on her bed with her mother, to read a story about worlds beyond. About travelling, about life among the distant stars, and the dangers and wonders that lay there.

Clara held dear many great memories of bedtime stories with her mother, and some of the fondest of them belonged to Amelia Williams novels. The novels and their stories were one of the primary things that inspired Clara's eagerness to travel, to have a desire to go out there and see it all. To visit amazing worlds and live among those distant stars. That was a dream she had had since she was only very little, a dream fuelled by these novels. A dream that she was living, right now.

She was up to the last page of chapter ten. She thought it would be a good idea to stop her session there, because, as she had learned all too well at the age of six, eleven was a great chapter, but it did have a tendency to deprive the reader of any happiness they might have gained from reading the first ten chapters. Perhaps, tomorrow, if she felt up to it, she'd ready a box of tissues and delve into number eleven. Which ended with the young heroine saying a tearful 'goodbye' to the wizard she had been travelling with, at the hands of a group of sinister, statue-like beings known only as the 'Tearful Assassin's'. Even though Clara had read the book, and therefore that chapter, a handful of times previously, she thought it would be best to leave it for now, on the high note that it was currently wallowing in.

With this, she marked her page, set the book aside onto her bedside table, leapt up from her bed, slipped on her jacket and scarf, and began to walk down the stairs. Her intention being to check up on the progress of the Doctor's ongoing battle with the Maitland's back garden.

She turned the cold handle of the sliding glass door and stepped out into the small, icy square of grass. She slid the door closed behind her and took one tentative step off the pavement and onto the cold grass, which crunched satisfyingly under her feet.

Her attention was immediately caught by the Doctor, who was still coatless, sleeves rolled up, and soaking wet, as he wrestled with a plastic garden hose. He was rolling over the icy ground with relentless fury as the hose coiled around his legs. As he rolled, pulled and kicked at the object (which was spurting icy-cold water in random intervals.) Clara just watched, her fingers around her chin, locked in a fit of silent giggles.

He flicked his soaking-wet mope of brown hair out of his eyes and rolled onto his stomach, looking up and noticing Clara standing a few meters before him in the process. Not without some difficulty, he managed to get his right hand free of the hose's tight grip and he used it to point to Clara. "C-Clara... Clara!" His arm flopped to the ground, limp, as he spluttered and struggled through the flow of cold water that was coming down upon his head. He raised his head once and looked at her through his blurred vision, calling out to her weakly. "Clara, please... P-please help me... I think I'm getting attacked by a sentient garden hose!" He let out a suffocating sound as he kicked at the tangled mess of plastic tubing that was currently enveloping the lower half of his body.

Now worried that he actually might be in pain, Clara ran over to his limp body as he lay on the ground, his face buried in the grass, moaning and groaning. First she gripped the hose by the plastic nozzle, diverting the stuttered flow of water away from the Doctor's already-soaking-wet body. Then she grabbed the plastic tubing and began pulling it away from him.

Feeling the hose loosen and fall from around his wrests and chest, the Doctor opened his eyes and relinquished the pained expression from his face. He looked up to see Clara, her face gloriously situated against the pale, winter sunlight. He then looked down to see the hose torn off his legs by her, before being thrown against the grass violently.

In a giddy celebration of being able to use his limbs once more, the Doctor leapt up and began running on the spot, feeling the grass crunch underneath his boots. He looked to his right to see Clara looking at him with her 'you're being weird but I'm not surprised' face. He grinned at her before pulling her into a quick hug, wrapping his arms around her upper-shoulder-blades for a few seconds. Before releasing her, turning on the spot, taking out the Sonic Screwdriver from the inside of his waistcoat's pocket, and beginning to scan the ground with the green light that was emitting from the tip.

Clara watched as he hunched over the ground, moving the Sonic Screwdriver around, and following it, like a specially-trained dog following a scent. Eventually, he reached the mess of green plastic that was the hose, and began scanning it too, muttering under this breath as he did so. "Some type of plastic-based life form, possibly of Nestene origin..." He paused for a moment, before raising his voice, not taking his eyes of the hose. "Sent here to kill me I presume, came to life probably on touch, didn't you?" His tone led Clara to believe he wasn't talking to her, but to the hose instead. She just rolled her eyes as he continued. "Who sent you? Was it the Nestene's or something else? How did you get here? Did you use a transmat? Did you really think I wouldn't notice? I was getting all sorts of funny readings, I knew something was up in this neighbourhood..."

Deciding she had had enough, she just tapped the Doctor on the shoulder, gaining his attention. He turned around to look at her, his brow furrowed. "Clara, you should stay back, this thing is capable of suffocating someone, there's no telling what it'll do to you if you get too close..."

Clara walked around him and replied. "No, Doctor, don't you see? It's..." She outstretched one hand to touch the hose, the Doctor immediately lashed out a hand of his own in concern, locking it his around hers.

As he did this, he gave her another warning. "No, Clara, don't! Don't touch it! It's dangerous..." He finished darkly, a shadow falling over his face.

She just softly giggled, causing a funny taste to come into the Doctor's mouth. "No, Doctor, it isn't, it's just..." Before he had a chance to react, she stretched out her hand once more and touched the hose, rubbing her fingers against the plastic before deciding. "It's just a hose..."

Feeling slightly embarrassed, the Doctor's face flushed red slightly, before agreeing with her, and accepting she was right. "Well, yes, it appears to be." He took a few moments to give the limp house a little flick with his free hand. Before adding, in his defence, "But, you can never be too careful... You should always be cautious when you're me because you could be attacked by someone, or something, at any moment." He swallowed, before shrugging his shoulders and admitting, "Danger follows me around."

He then pocketed the Sonic Screwdriver and stood up, slinking back into the house, like a naughty child who had just been scolded. Clara watched his retreating form pass into the shadow of the sliding glass doors. Before turning her head and beginning to inspect the damage the Doctor had no-doubt inflicted onto the Maitland's garden.

She returned to the warmth of the living room ten minutes later to see the Doctor, sitting on a stool behind the kitchen's counter, rubbing his head gently with one hand. He had a pained expression on his face.

Leaning on the counter, Clara looked up at him, casually enquiring. "What's wrong?"

Looking at her, a grimace planted on his face, he replied. "I think I hit my head quite hard on the ground while wrestling with that Nestene..."

"Hose." She corrected him, before walking over and standing before him, continuing as she did so. "And anyway, it can't be that bad. Whatever life-threatening injury it is you've sustained. Here, give me a look."

He opened his mouth to reply, but Clara didn't even wait for words to flow out of his mouth. She went onto her tippy-toes, before leaning over and beginning to gingerly part his thick brown hair.

Clara was leaning into him, her thighs touching his knees and her chest in his face. Her voice someone broke through his slightly-intoxicated mental state and made it to his ears. "Well, from the looks of it it's not very big, just a small bruise."

He felt her fingers make gentle contact with the sore spot. "Ow!" He immediately reacted.

This caused Clara to begin teasing him. "Oh, c'mon, it's only a small, red spot. Don't be such a baby."

"But it hurts." He complained back. In a childlike, almost-whiny tone.

"Artie makes less fuss then this when he suffers a bruise from Soccer. And I'm sure you'll live." She reassured him, in her most sarcastically-motherly voice.

He felt her fingers leave his scalp, felt the smooth skin on them brush some odd locks of his hair over the sore spot. He then felt Clara's body leave it's close contact with his. It was only then he realised, almost as soon as Clara had begun to lean onto him, he had closed his eyes. He immediately opened them as he watched her retreat to her spot behind the counter once more. Drat, he had been enjoying that... No, shut up. He mentally slapped himself for even thinking something like that.

"Anyway, it turns out, that the hose was not, in-fact, possessed by an alien, but simply suffering from the sudden release of a build-up in pressure inside the tap it was connected to." Clara matter-of-factly stated.

"Which caused the whole thing to go out of control and attack me." He finished her sentence for her.

She shrugged her shoulders in reply. "Well, if you want to put it that way..." She hesitated, recalling what other information she'd come by during her thorough examination of he garden. Eventually, her brain offered her something, which she gladly took. "So, the hose is working but several of the pot plants were crushed during your 'battle' with it." She then raised her tone to a more cheerful one, and continued. "However, the flower beds managed to make it out intact with no severe casualties suffered. Oh, and the sprinkler system has stopped making that funny noise."

Accepting her nonexistent gratitude, the Doctor nodded and grinned, removing the anguished expression of his face once more. "Thank-you."

Clara then stopped leaning on the counter, and checked her watch. "Blimey, it's almost 4 o'clock, Angie and Artie will be back from school in a few minutes."

"Doesn't time fly when you're battling ferocious hose's?" The Doctor chimed in, before furrowing his brow thoughtfully and elaborating. "Actually, come to think of it, I've never actually understood that expression, 'time flies'. Because, well, time doesn't actually fly it more just... Exists. Rather like a bubble, a soap bubble. It's not as linear like many people assume, it's not a line..."

The Doctor's rambling was broken short by the sound of the front door opening and Angie and Artie walking in. Angie was grumbling and complaining about a difficult Science Assignment and Artie appeared to be daydreaming.

The two of them slipped off their bags and went to throw them to the ground when they spotted the Doctor, sitting on a stool behind their kitchen's counter, muttering under his breath as he rubbed his head lethargically.

Angie just raised a single eyebrow, directing her expression to Clara. Meanwhile, Artie piped up, squealing out something along the lines off, "It's Clara's boyfriend!" Before being silenced from across the room by a daggers-like expression from Clara.

Artie's comment did spark the Doctor's attention though, he turned his head to look at the pair. Angie watched as he face split into a big grin, as he raised a single hand in a waving motion and greeted them. "Hello Maitlands!"

Angie crossed her arms in reply. "Um, hi. What are you doing here?"

The Doctor shrugged his shoulders. "Well, it's a very long and frankly rather complicated story. But the bigger, more important question is... What are you doing here?"

"We live here." Angie replied slowly.

He narrowed his eyes in response, looking at her with a suspicious expression on his face. "I knew you were a liar from the day I first laid my eyes on you..."

"Whatever." Angie shrugged her shoulders, in a bored expression. Hoisting her bag over her shoulder and stalking up the stairs, to her room. In a typically-moody, typical-teenager fashion.

The Doctor watched her retreating form with a furrowed brow before turning to Artie and greeting him, with much more enthusiasm then he had Angie. "Artie Maitland! How are you? What did you do at school today?"

"My team won our Soccer match! And my Chess game actually went quite well..." Artie said in-between a big, happy grin.

"Nice job with the Chess game!" The Doctor replied, holding his hand up to Artie's level and giving him a high-five, with a childlike enthusiasm.

He then enquired. "...But what's Soccer? Is it the one with the sticks and funny shoes?" He gestured towards his feet.

Clara chimed in. "Um, no. It's got a ball in it and you kick it around a field..."

The Doctor put an expression on his face that suggested he has attempting to recall long-buried information. Artie and Clara then watched as his face split back into a big, beaming smile as he continued. "Ah yes, Soccer equals Football, right? Yes, I've played that one. A long, long time ago... The game we played had something to do with Alcohol..." He shook his head and began to talk to Artie about Chess.

Clara watched as the two of them keenly discussed Chess strategies with a smile on her face. Whenever he talked to Artie, or any child for that matter, the Doctor would identify with that child and adjust his personality accordingly. She didn't know how he did it, she honestly didn't. One minute he'd be a lonely wanderer with a dark past, the next an eccentric genius. Then he'd suddenly become a thousand-year-old with the mind of a young child.

"Clara, will dad be joining us for dinner?" Artie turned his head to look at her, which meant Clara's smirk was forcibly dropped from her face.

Scrambling to answer the young boy's question and avoid thinking about the Doctor, Clara hastily replied. "Ah, um, no, Artie. Your dad said he's staying at work late, remember?"

Artie gave a simple nod in reply. Before retreating back up to his room, bag still slung over shoulder.

Turning on his stool, the Doctor asked with interest. "What's for dinner?"

She rubbed her face tiredly as she replied, in a muffled voice. "I don't know, I haven't thought about it... Can you cook?"

He gave her a big grin, before sliding off the stool and replying, with determination. "Yes, Clara, yes I can."

_A/N: So, there's chapter two, I hope you all enjoyed it. Remember to follow this story if you like it to be kept up-to-date on it's progress and, as always, review if you have anything to say about it!_

_Next Time: After dinner with the Maitlands, we move away from fluffy territory and finally get to advancing the main plot!_


	3. Chapter 3: Day One - Part 3

Chapter 3: Day One - Part 3

_Sorry for the long break between this chapter and the last, I have been rather busy with the rest of my life! Anyway, enjoy the latest chapter, but first a quick round-up of reviews I've received so far... (Feel free to skip through this if you just want to read the story.)_

_mema0607: Well, will you look at this? I've added more chapters and plan to continue doing so! Whether it's turned into amazing story yet is for you to decide._

_librarykate: Thanks for the long, in-depth review, one of them coming in makes my day! To address your nitpicks, here's what I've got..._

_1. The date may seem like a bit of a plot hole, but it's actually an intentional plot point. Revealing anymore will be spoiling the reason why, though._

_2. Well, yes and no. Just because the system needs to be fixed doesn't mean it's because the Matiland's are going to use it during December! Basically, I needed something for the Doctor to attempt to fix, and that was just the first thing that popped into my head..._

_3. No, you're right, he probably wouldn't say 'sucks'. I've gone back into my personal copy of this story and edited that to change it to 'that's preposterous!' Thanks for picking that up!_

_SunnySmile1324: Thanks for the praise! :)_

_anon: Glad you're looking forward to it, anon!_

_SaveTheDaleks: Glad you liked it! Thanks for following and reviewing. And, well, cheers to you to!_

_Underkastelse: I'm glad you like it._

_Redaugust102: I hope chapter 2 and this chapter will meet your expectations._

_Audaciously: One of my primary focuses is to make the characters from the show as close to their own-screen counterparts as possible. I try to make my stories feel like they could be off-screen adventures, missing parts of the story._

_anoncanon: Wow, wow, WOW! That's awesome praise, I'm really glad you think that highly of this story._

_Guest: I'm glad you liked it._

The Maitland's, Clara and the Doctor sat around the dinner table, tucking into their food, which the Doctor had prepared. Before each occupant of the table lay a single, seasoned-and-sauced Omelette. It was placed on a white plate, by a mostly-decorative side of vegetables (which the Doctor had objected to, but Clara had insisted on including.)

Dissecting her Omelette and swallowing a mouthful of it, Angie chewed and (no-doubt reluctantly) admitted, "Mmmmm... This is actually pretty good, Doctor."

Smiling over the table at her, the Doctor replied. "Thank-you Angie. You're now officially being promoted to the coveted position of my new favourite."

"Hey!" Artie furrowed his brow and glared over at the Doctor, sounding slightly offended.

"Sorry, Artie. There will be a 5 minute 'harmony' period then you can challenge Angie for her position, if you want to." The Doctor stated matter-of-factly.

Angie impaled her Omelette with the end of her fork once more, but lifted it up to find a gooey, green and sticky mess entangled around it. She twirled her cutlery around, observing the green goo with a disgusted expression. "What is this?!" She spurted out, causing the Doctor to look up from his own dinner in reply.

"A carodian sauce from Raxol-Seven." The Doctor replied, devouring his from it's place on the tip of his own fork in one bite, seemingly with pleasure. He swallowed it and continued. "It has unique qualities that allow it's individual cells to multiply and mutate on contact with the acids inside your stomach." With this, he straightened his back suddenly, tensing inside his chair, clutching his stomach and explaining, to a bewildered Clara, Artie and Angie. "And there it goes!" He shook his head erratically, finally settling down and beginning to eat the rest of the Omelette.

"Where'd you get that?" Clara asked him.

He shrugged. "I don't know. I pick up a lot things here and there, I can't remember how they get into my pockets." He elaborated.

There was quite a long, yet-comfortable pause in which everyone ate their meal in silence. As snow fell gently outside, contrasted against the dark sky. All that could be heard for a few minutes was the clatter of cutlery.

"Why as you here, Doctor, with us?" The ever-inquisitive Artie asked, breaking the silence at-last.

The Doctor began to reply. "Well..."

He was, however, interrupted by Angie. "I thought you'd stay hold up in your snogbox."

"What? What did you call her?" The Doctor immediately replied, looking directly at Angie with a slightly-offended expression on his face.

"I-" Angie began. Before the Doctor cut her off immediately.

"Clara, have you been telling these two to call my TARDIS a 'snogbox'?" He turned to her.

Clara shrugged in reply, looking slightly guilty and sheepish.

"It's... It's not... It isn't..." He spluttered, before regaining his composure and continuing. "It is not a snogbox." With definition in his voice.

"Sorry, I didn't know it already had a name beyond 'Clara's boyfriend's time machine'." Angie shrugged, not really sounding very sorry at all.

The Doctor narrowed his eyes in suspicion, eyeing Angie beadily. "I didn't think she liked you when you were onboard. She wheezed and groaned a fair bit, especially when you called her 'stupid'."

"But it's just a box, it doesn't have feelings..." Angie snarked back.

"Yes, yes it does, and she also has a temperament. And, if you're not careful and polite, you might catch the worst of it." He waved a figure at her in warning.

"Don't worry Angie, I don't understand either." Clara cuts in, shaking her head reassuringly.

"So, Doctor, thank-you for cooking dinner and not making a complete mess of it." Clara turned to him, smiling.

"Why do you call him that? 'The Doctor'? Is it like a pet name or something?" Artie curiously inquired, turning to Clara.

"Because, I know girls do that to boys sometimes, but I'm not sure why. I mean, why don't they just use their real names? It doesn't make any sense to me..."

As Artie kept speaking Clara could feel herself going redder and redder. She tensed her hands tightly, pulling her cutlery into a suffocating, snake-like grip. She focused all her attention on the half-devoured Omelette that lay on her plate. She didn't dare to look up at the people surrounding her, as Artie went on and on about her relationship with the Doctor.

"Doctor, what actually is your real name?" Artie asked the Doctor, suddenly changing the subject. He didn't answer immediately.

He took another mouthful of the Omelette and before chewing and swallowing it in silence. Clara glanced up at him, before giving him and quick nudge and returning her attention to her own meal.

The Doctor looked down at Artie, and replied. "My name? I told you, it's the Doctor. You call me the Doctor."

Angie cut in this time, she spoke with a tone that carried an annoyance to it. "But we can't just call you 'the Doctor' you must have a real name. Like a first name and a surname and stuff like that."

The Doctor furrowed his brow and responded. "No, no, that's not how it goes. I say 'I'm the Doctor' and you're meant to go 'Doctor Who?' I like it when people say that, when that happens, I always look forward to that bit..." He hung his head, sounding slightly disappointed.

"So we just call you 'the Doctor'?" Angie replied.

The Doctor looked up from his meal and smiled. "Yep, that's me."

"No name other then a nickname Clara's given you?" Artie continued.

The Doctor just nodded in reply.

Angie rolled her eyes and returned to her Omelette. "That's stupid..."

The Doctor shook his head. "No, it's not, it's cool. Rather like bow-ties, because they're cool too." He touched his own bow-tie lightly as he said it, with an overt fondness. He then continued, lowering his tone. "Now the next thing you're going to tell me is that bow-ties aren't cool, isn't it?"

"But they're not." Angie replied in a tone that seemed to directly attack the Doctor's intelligence.

"Okay! Okay, Artie, I would like to inform you that you're my new favourite." The Doctor glanced over at the young boy, pointing at him.

"Cool." Was all Artie said in reply, he didn't even take his eyes off his Omelette as he said it.

The Doctor decided to change the subject by asking Angie. "So, Angie, how's this Science Assignment of yours' coming along?"

Glad that the conversation had turned away from her relationship with the Doctor, Clara looked back up from her plate and Omelette, which was now almost completely finished, and joined the discussion once more.

The Doctor noticed Clara's skin had returned from a shade of red, back to it's usual pale colour and tone. As she talked and laughed he couldn't help but gaze at her with admiration. He wasn't sure why, but whenever she opened her mouth to speak or laugh he found himself looking to his side, at her. And he really did like it when she laughed.

After dinner was finished the process of washing up began. Clara busied herself with it while the Doctor (who insisted on helping) found some degree of entertainment in the rubber gloves that Clara told him to put on.

After the washing up was finished, the Doctor clapped his hands together and grinned, asking Artie and Angie. "Right, who wants dessert? How about... Fish fingers and custard?"

Angie screwed her face up in disgust at the thought. Before taking out her phone and beginning to type on it rapidly, as she retreated up the stairs. Artie just said, "Yuck..." Before following Angie.

As the two children climbed the stairs and rounded a corridor, Clara called out to them. "I want you two both in bed before your dad gets home!"

A monotonous chorus of "Yes, Clara." Rang down the stairs in reply.

The Doctor then turned to Clara, asking her a question. "Where am I sleeping?"

"Oh, um, on the lounge, I think..."

He made his way to the lounge and flung himself feet-first onto it, jumping up and down with childlike enthusiasm, his face lit up with glee. He finished with one final leap before allowing himself to fall onto the base of the sofa, giving a final opinion on it. "Not as springy as your standard single bed but decent enough, as far as lounge's go."

Clara looked at his fully-clothed figure as it lay on the lounge, eyes-closed, in a relaxed position. "Don't you want a blanket?" She asked.

He didn't open his eyes, just shook his head and replied. "No, don't worry about me, I'll be fine with the cold."

"Okay, well, um, goodnight, I guess, Doctor..." She said this as she slowly retreated up the stairs.

Somehow knowing she was a distance away from him, he called out to her in reply. "Goodnight Clara!"

Later that night, the lounge was empty, devoid of any occupant, as the shrouded darkness of the lounge room creeped into every corner. Outside the house, the kneeling figure of the Doctor stood on the pavement of the sidewalk directly opposite to the Maitland's house. He was stroking a small, ginger cat with bright green eyes, muttering to himself something about time fluctuations and tears in the fabric of reality. Behind him, on the opposite side of the street, a faulty street lamp caused the light to dance over his back in a stuttered pattern.

Noticing the flickering and sparking street lamp, the Doctor looked up from his kneeling position on the side walk and began to walk towards the faulty lamp. As he walked, the cat he was previously stroking followed him, it's ginger mane of hair catching a few stray snowflakes in the process.

Once he reached the base of the stuttering street lamp, he clicked his fingers and pointed towards the sparking bulb, which was encased in a cracked prism of glass. As he pointed, he spoke, seemingly to no-one but himself, with an air of easy confidence. "That's not right, that's definitely not right."

The cat let out a soft, squeak-like sound in reply. It was almost like a traditional meow but not fully developed yet. The Doctor replied to the cat in English. "It's not 'just a faulty streetlamp', Boris."

The cat let out another meow, to which the Doctor responded in a slightly-inpatient tone. "Because, if the problem was with just this particular street lamp then all along the street the lamps wouldn't be having the same problem."

With this, he turned to his left and waved a pointed finger towards the neatly-ordered lines of tall street lamps that stood, solemnly, in lines. Embedded into the pavement of the sidewalk. They were all sparking, flickering and stuttering in a similar pattern to each other, almost in a rhythm of sorts.

Boris the cat let out a slightly louder, more defined meow. To which the Doctor responded, in a scolding tone. "Oi! Don't you swear at me! Just because you're wrong and I'm right!" He waggled a disapproving figure at the ginger feline.

Boris meowed once more back at him, to which he replied, "Yes, they're a second or two out of sync, but that doesn't mean that each individual lamp is suffering from a similar-but-slightly-different problem. It's the same problem and that means it's the same cause... The real question is though, what is that cause?"

He had to admit, though, the cat had a point. Now that the Doctor thought about, the lamps weren't all flickering on and off at the same time. So whatever electrical surge was causing these disruptions to the power, it wasn't affecting the power source of the lamps directly, it was affecting each individual one..."

Boris gingerly walked towards the Doctor and brushed up against his ankles, meowing once more. "Yes! That's a very good point, Boris, the lights in the houses are suffering from the same problem."

He turned on his heel to look around at the almost-identical rows of houses. Their windows were mostly darkened but occasionally there would be a light turned on. Causing a faint glow to emit through the darkness of the harsh, cold, winter night. This glow was often interrupted by a brief pause in the light, the same type of stutter and flicker that was affecting the street lamps.

As the Doctor glanced around at the houses, he felt the ginger cat's bottle-brush tale coil up gently against his ankle. He muttered under his breath, rambling about possible causes of the electrical failings. "Well, it's possible it's a simple electrical fault... But, as you said, Boris, that would mean the lights would be stuttering as one, not with pauses between them... No, no, I think the problem is something a bit more... Obscure. Especially considering the scale of it all..."

He paused for a second, glancing down at the ginger feline as it did circles around his legs. He then continued, addressing the cat directly. "You know, Boris, I have a feeling the problem with these lights is somehow, possibly, maybe, most definitely, extraterrestrial. Maybe it's the same problem that caused the TARDIS to bounce right off this street, leaving me behind. She's a temperamental old thing, doesn't like going somewhere that disagrees with her..."

He paused for a second once more, before raising his voice and pointing a finger to the chilly air and elaborating. "Of course, if it is the same problem that caused the TARDIS to dematerialise without me, then it's timey-wimey related. So, therefore, I'm going to attune the matrix of this energy-detector to pick up signals related to time energy. If I can locate the source of the problem and shut it down, I can signal the TARDIS to land here and pick me up."

He then knelt down and stroked the ginger fur of Boris the cat once more, looking into his rounded pair of bright green eyes and speaking. "Meanwhile, you, Boris, my friend, you will be doing a bit of reconnaissance for me. You know the neighbourhood, take a stroll around when you can, figure out where the main areas of general electrical-faultyness are and report back to me. Good-luck." He nodded militaristically at the cat, dismissing him.

He then took a beeping, flashing device out of his coat pocket, holding it up in the air and tapping it with a fast set of fingers. He stood, alone in the darkness of the street, preparing to solve yet another mystery...

_As always, review if you have anything to say and follow if you enjoy it._

_Next Time: Clara and the Doctor go 'time-wound hunting'!_


End file.
